


Harbinger

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [304]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Christmas fic, M/M, Mention of Suicide Attempt, angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-08 01:30:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12853806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: harbinger: noun: HAHR-bun-jer :something that foreshadows a future event : something that gives an anticipatory sign of what is to comeFrom Merriam-Webster:When medieval travelers needed lodging for the night, they went looking for a harbinger. As long ago as the 12th century, harbinger was used to mean "one who provides lodging" or "a host," but that meaning is now obsolete. Later on, harbinger was also being used for a person sent ahead of a main party to seek lodgings, often for royalty or a campaigning army, but that old sense has largely been left in the past, too. Those sent ahead would announce the approach of who was following behind, and that's how our modern sense of harbinger (from the Anglo-French herberge, meaning "lodgings") acquired the sense with which we are familiar today, that of something which foretells a future event.





	Harbinger

Sherlock Holmes was not superstitious. He didn't believe in omens, or harbingers, definitely not, and yet... the moment he struggled against the afternoon light on the last Christmas Day he would ever spend alone, he realized whatever he had taken the night before hadn't worked in the way he intended. He was still there. He was still alive in spite of his best attempts.

 

He rubbed his face and decided to see if his fingers still worked. He rummaged in his coat pocket, pulled out his mobile, and grimaced at the first message. 

You alive? - GL 

Technically. - SH 

Fingers were working. Good.

 

What do you want? - SH

Just wanted to wish you a Happy Christmas, and to see if you wanted to come over for dinner, we have plenty - GL

 

Sherlock stared at his mobile and blinked.

 

Why? - SH

Why what? I know you - I know the silly season isn't your favourite time of the year - GL

Thanks, but I'm fine. - SH

Alright, mate. Take care. I'll let you know if any decent cases pop up. - GL

Cheers. - SH

 

He turned off his phone and removed the battery for good measure, then took a long look around his sitting room. This wouldn't do. He wasn't sure why, but he suddenly felt the need to clean it. Not dust it, precisely, just make it habitable, if the universe was conspiring against his best attempts, he figured there had to be a reason. So he worked on moving the piles of stuff - mostly remnants of old cases, and the occasional take-away carton, into some sort of organized chaos. He even went so far as to borrow Mrs. Hudson's vaccuum.

"An experiment, dear?" She gave him her best not worried, but worried look and he shook his head.

"Nope."

"You're actually going to do some hoovering?"

He kissed her forehead, then carried it upstairs, and spent over an hour to make it seem that someone actually resided in the flat - actually cared about its appearance. He still wasn't sure why he bothered. But he returned the infernal noisemaker to his landlady, kissed her once more to her surprise, then headed out into the surprisingly warm Christmas evening. He considered seeing if there was a store open so he could buy Lestrade a bottle of something and head over, but shook that notion off, knowing Lestrade was just being polite. Instead, he turned into the park and after a bit of a walk sat down on an empty bench and closed his eyes for a moment.

"Do ya mind if I sit?" A man pointed at the empty spot next to him with his stick.

Sherlock blinked at the man who stood in front of him, then nodded before blurting out, "Afghanistan."

"That obvious?" The man grinned at him, then slowly sat down and leaned his stick against the side of the bench, just within reach if needed.

Sherlock shrugged. "Military - though you haven't bothered with a haircut lately, your posture is telling - walking stick, indicates injury of some kind, though you weren't wounded in the leg - shoulder I'm guessing - tan lines, rattle of dog tags..."

"Very observant." He turned and looked Sherlock over for a moment, then turned away again. "You tried to OD last night. But it didn't take. You didn't intend to be here today. And you want to know why you are."

Sherlock sat in silence.

"Eyes. Slight tremor in your hands." Sherlock shoved his hands into his pockets and waited for him to continue. "You know withdrawal is coming, and it's going to hit you hard, and yet you cleaned today. It mattered to you for some reason. And you don't know why. You don't believe in much. Your life is your work - scientist, possibly? You like puzzles - puzzles are what keep you from caring too much about anything or anyone, especially yourself." He looked back at Sherlock's face and sighed. "Damn. I'm sorry. That was - uncalled for. I apologise. I was, still technically am, a doctor, I suppose. Though I'm not sure how many of my old patients will want someone who is more fucked up than they are - I was dead for about two minutes before they brought me back. It's nothing to write home about - just blackness - blacker than black if there is such a thing. There's nothing after.. all this -" He waved his hand in the air and shrugged. "In case that's what you were hoping. But who knows, maybe it's different for everyone. Maybe you'll see something else - sorry. I really didn't mean - I just haven't spoken to anyone in a while, I'm not great with people."

Sherlock snorted, then started laughing, and found he couldn't stop. Finally he caught his breath and removed his gloves, then wiped his face, expecting the man to be gone. He wasn't. He had laid a trembling hand on Sherlock's knee and was sitting quietly. "Doctor, hmm. Missed that." He reached out for the man's dog tags and chuckled. "There's always something. Listen. I don't really want to spend Christmas alone. I don't normally care, but tonight - I could really use the company, my flat, as you know, is in decent nick for once, and is a five minute walk from here; Mrs. Hudson does a nice Christmas dinner, if you have no other place to be?" 

The man looked at him a bit suspiciously then nodded and removed his hand from Sherlock's knee and offered it to him. "John Watson."

"Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock hesitated, but took the other man's hand in his and held on to it as if his life depended on it. "Perhaps it does," he muttered to himself.


End file.
